She's Hearing Voices
by Middendorffi
Summary: *ON HIATUS* "Little bird…" I hear him rasp. "Shh…stay still…please, Hound." In shock at my use of his common name, I think, he complies, and I press my face back to his neck and inhale deeply. My vision swims, and some fire within me lights and all I can see is red. AU/Vampirism/Lemony *ON HIATUS*
1. Chapter 1- She's Hearing Voices

**I. She's Hearing Voices**

_She's hearing voices call her _

_She's hearing voices warn her _

_She just can't sleep in her bed, _

_She just can't sleep _

_She's falling down the stairs _

_She's tearing out her hair _

_She's screaming my name, in the night _

_To keep her warm_

Sometimes I see them at night, the men from the riot. I see them, feel them…tearing at my dress with those foul sneers on their faces. They were filthy, smelly, and hungry. Hungry for what should only happen between a woman and her lord husband's bed sheets. I get up and start pacing. _What's another night with no sleep?_ I stop and stare at the mirror. There's a large greenish bruise on my collar, just only too high for my nightgown to cover. I touch it out of curiosity and flinch. _It could have been worse. It could have been much worse._

My thoughts turn to my savior, not for the first time, and of how he looks in the mirror. The left side of his face was fair, maybe even handsome. But the right side… _I wonder if it ever catches him by surprise, passing by a mirror. Or if his heavy steps were not merely due to armor. _

_Does he care at all? _

_I have to thank him. _

I rush out of my chambers and to my surprise; see him immediately standing guard just outside the door.

I give a little peep of surprise and then remember what I was doing out here. "Ser-" I start. "I ain't no _ser_." He barks and looks me up and down "Little birds should be fast asleep in their cages, bad things always happen in the dark." He says, stepping closer and baring his teeth.

"My father got his head chopped off in broad daylight." I murmur, bristling. The Hound frowns at this, looking down almost guiltily.

I clear my throat and say, "I just wanted to thank you, for saving me, for stopping those men. You were very brave."

"A dog doesn't need courage to chase off rats" Is his gruff reply. He turns to walk away but I shout after him, "Why can't you ever just be nice?" Faster than I can blink, it seems, he turns round and approaches until my back hits the stone wall by my chamber door. "Is that what you want? To see the gentility of your fucking storybook knights, whispering sweet nothings in your ear while they're thinking only of getting ya on your back, same as those alley rats." He breathes, dropping his head to your ear.

"Their lies may get you wet, but they don't change the rotten core of all men." His words tickled your ear, sending shivers up your spine. _He's trying to shock me._

"Not all men are like that, you're not like that." I say softly. His rumbling chuckles are so rich I feel them in my bones. "_Oh_? I'm not, am I?" He pulls back and grabs your jaw firmly in his hand. "Why's that, huh? Because I'm your protector, your bloody savoir? That doesn't mean a _fucking __**thing**_, little bird." He squeezes, and it hurts.

_I'm sick of manipulation, and I'm sick of liars._ "Prove it." I say, looking directly into his widening, dark brown eyes. I don't breathe until he drops the hand that was clutching my jaw. I feel disappointment rushing through me and it catches me off guard—_Why?_

"Look at me." His voice is so quiet that you thought you must of imagined it, but—"Look, little bird." I do; he is undeniably older than I am, though by how much I had no idea. His somewhat scraggly russet hair rests at his shoulder line and his facial hair is rough looking, but not long… Then his face—the left side was somehow left untouched by the hostility of The Mountain, the right side of his face was pocked, the skin puffy, rough—_I imagine_—and slightly warped, his left brow drooping slightly and his ear disfigured. _It's not as bad as I thought; I'm such a baby sometimes_. I feel a smile touch my lips.

I realize that Sandor is silent, and for a moment I'm afraid I've done something wrong. When I look up into his eyes, however, his expression is one of surprise. We stay like that, just staring for what seems like the longest time, but was likely only a mere moment. One large hand comes up to brush against my cheek, and he sighs and shakes his head. When his eyes look back up to mine, they are determined.

My heart skips a beat and I realize vaguely there's something he's going to walk away from, something between us—_was this feeling what romance is like, real romance, not like in the storybooks?_ I steel myself, and decide that I want to find out. Before he can turn away, I grip the nape of his neck and pull him down further, so that his lips collide with mine. His body stiffens shortly but I don't give up, and with a groan, his lips begin moving against mine at a fevered pace. _It feels different than I thought it would_. Instead of feeling overwhelming love at his attentions, I feel something a bit too desperate to be love, _I feel needy_.

He pulls me closer and we are crushed together, his heavy body pinning me to the wall. His hands wander up and down my arms, my side, and suddenly he pulls away to look at me—"Someone could see us out here." His voice is hoarse, and it pulls at something deep within me, bringing an aching feeling. "My chambers" I mumble, and my voice is different too, huskier.

Our bodies simply slide into the door of my room—_my cage_—and we continue, with more fervor than before; traveling around the room, bumping into things, giggling and slamming right back into walls.

It's dangerous to be alone with a man. Mother always said so, and the thought gnaws at me, of what she would think. I pull away and it's hard to find my breath. "Sandor…" He's looking down at me, eyes glazed, breathing heavily, and it dawns on me just how unknowing I am of these things, of what I'm doing, of what he's doing.

"We shouldn't be doing this." I say putting my arms straight out against his chest, and to my horror, Sandor just laughs. "You've just now figured that out, have ya?" His eyes roam around the room and he spreads his arms, "This fucking room is the last place a mangy mutt should be. I know that, and I know that you fucking know that, but you didn't listen, **did you**?" He thundered. I don't understand why he's so angry. "I only wanted—" He interrupts me. "Silly little bird doesn't know what she wants." He says loudly, his voice dripping with malice. It startles me, and when I look up at his face his eyes are wild, he's exasperated. "You keep acting like a fool, and you'll end up like one of Littlefinger's whores."

Tears well up in my eyes and I'm shocked by how much his words hurt me. _I'm trying, why can't he understand that I'm trying?_ "…Y-you're awful." I stammered. He shook his head. "I'm honest. It's the world that's awful."

Without another word he's gone out the door, leaving me alone to cry, and to think.

**AN: This is my first fic, and I know it's a little-or a lottle-rough. I definitely need advice, reviewing and just all around response. This'll likely be edited heavily or possibly rewritten. To clear things up, this is an AU story that will contain vampirism and will likely end up going off of the show story line. Some lines may come from the show or the books, but I have no intention of rehashing already used scenes. **

**Also, I will be using song titles for chapter titles and song excerpts to introduce a chapter. If you want, I recommend finding the song online and listening while reading. Much love-Midden.**


	2. Chapter 2- All Together Alone

**II. All Together Alone**

_You won't find you__  
__Unless you lose your mind__  
__And you let go of all the things you cling to__  
__'Cause we are all together alone_

I've spent the past few weeks trying not to think about Sandor, and of what happened between us. I still saw him around, of course, but mostly we maintained an appearance of outward aloofness, maybe even animosity. _Or maybe he really didn't want anything to do with me anymore._

Shae notices I seem distracted and asks me what's wrong, but I don't have the heart to tell her. My only friend in King's Landing and I still feel I can't trust her with everything. Her face is suspicious in the gilded mirror I sit in front of as she brushes my hair and I do my best not to notice. There's a knock at the door and I automatically move to get it, but Shae lays her hand on my shoulder. "I'll get it milady." She reminds gently. I hear the Imp's voice, Lord Tyrion asking to be let in. Shae, as always is extra wary towards him. Tyrion always has something interesting to say, however, and I'm curious. "Let him in, Shae, its fine." I say, giving her a reassuring smile. She sighs and crosses her arms, but steps out of his way.

"Lady Sansa" He says, taking my hand in his and placing a kiss on it. "Shall we go for a walk?" He asks, his way of saying subtly that he had something important to tell me and it would not be wise to stay in my chambers. "Of course my lord."

Lord Tyrion and I walk through the gardens, Shae following a few paces behind. Tyrion clears his throat and sighs loudly. _Oh no._

"Lady Sansa, I'm afraid you will not like what I'm about to tell you." He says quietly.

"My lord, I fear I'm more used to hearing about undesirable things than happy ones. You needn't worry."

"Of course, my apologies" He murmurs, and the sadness on his face shows his sincerity. He gestures to the bench in front of us and I sit. "I have heard, through my…confidants that Littlefinger intends to ask something of you." Tyrion says, arching his eyebrows as if he hopes I know where this is going. _Oh, well that's not so bad. _I think of the tentative arrangement I have with Littlefinger. _He said he'd take me away from here._ Of course he'd want something in return. "Well what is it?" I encourage. "He wishes…for your hand in marriage." He replies heavily. _Marriage?_ I'm stunned and it takes me a moment to reply. "Are you quite sure?" I breathe and he nods immediately. "I'm afraid so."

While this isn't the worst thing that could happen, Littlefinger is no Knight of Flowers—_and no Hound_. I say as much, leaving out the hound, and Lord Tyrion laughs and quips "No doubt you'll be grateful for that, in some respects, if this plays through." I'm not sure what he means but I frown slightly and he shakes his head and tells me to forget it. "Now then, I'm sure he'll call on you sooner than later to ask you in person, but I thought you'd like a little warning." The Imp finished.

"Thank you my lord, you are one of the few people in Kings Landing who is kind to me." I say, curtsying. And it is the truth—_He will be one of the few I will miss if I truly get to fly away._

"It's my pleasure, my lady." He replies smiling, and proceeds to walk me back to my chambers.

As anticipated, Lord Baelish calls upon me only a day later by sending his associate, Ros. She escorts me to his current dwelling, somewhat smaller than his Master of Coin room.

"Lady Sansa!" He calls, a grin on his face. "I am so glad you came. Please, sit. Ros, a drink?" Ros pours me a drink as I sit down at the table. Lord Baelish takes the chair next to me and drinks from his cup. He makes a sound of satisfaction and gestures Ros out of the room. "Now then, I'm sure you've heard that I've been granted lordship of Harrenhal?" I had, it was due to his part in securing the Tyrells, from what I've heard, and the reason he was leaving his position here at King's Landing. "Yes my lord." I say.

"Please, call me Petyr." He purrs and takes my hand across the table. "Do you recall our conversation, on the day of Lady Margaery's proposal?" I'm hesitant to answer; I know how many ears these walls have. "You needn't worry, dear Sansa, Ros is…keeping watch for prying ears." He reassures. My heartbeat is pulsing in my ears. "Yes, my lor—Petyr." I correct myself, my voice wavering, just a bit. If he notices, he doesn't say anything.

His thumb strokes my hand and it gives me goose bumps. "I fully intend to follow through Sansa, but there is only one way that I can make sure it goes through permanently, and safely."

I think I stop breathing.

"To help you I wish, and require, your hand in marriage, Sansa Stark." He says quietly. "Now I know that this is no small decision, so I will give you as much time as I can for your answer." I nod, but inwardly, I feel like my fate has already been decided.

-**_Sandor POV_-**

I groan and stumble into my shitty hole of a room, trying to get away from the light that was threatening to split my head in two. Drank too much last night, again. Thought if maybe I was drunk enough, I could sleep with one of the whores at the brothel without thinking of her. I failed, of course. When I couldn't keep it hard enough to stick it in that whores worn out cunt I had to stop myself from seeking my little bird out and just getting it over with. _The bitch is making me fucking soft, literally._ Oh sure, I could still get temporary comfort with my hand, thinking of that night—already weeks ago now—and of glimpses of her perky tits in those fancy court dresses she wears. But that relief only lasted for a day, if I was lucky. _I feel like a goddamn boy._

_It's for the best, Hound._

Little bird deserves better than a hound that knows only how to fight and fuck. _Aye, and she's going to get it._ Word got around that the fucking rat Littlefinger asked for her hand. I nearly killed someone at the training barracks the day I found out. Better to take my rage out on one of the pieces of rubbish that make up the Kingsguard, though.

I flop onto my hay filled bed and snatch the flagon on the nightstand. _Fuck it. My day's fucked already._ I tilt my head back to take a swig but a knock at the door causes me to sputter and spill the fuckin liquid everywhere. "Seven hells!" I curse. "I'm bloody closed; leave if you want to keep that fucking hand!" I yell towards the door, coughing.

The door swings open and I jump to my feet "Have you got a fucking death wish?—" I shout, gripping the sword at my hilt.

"Easy, Clegane, there's no need for violence." the smooth voice of Littlefinger chuckles, holding up his hands as he walks in. _Who the fuck does he think he is?_ "What do you want, Littlefinger?" I growl, hand still gripping my sword. The only way to get rid of such a nuisance was to let him have his say. "Only to talk." He says, moving to sit at the small table I owned, a single rickety chair being the only chair in the room. "Bit of a tight fit for someone of your stature, no?" He notes. "I don't have time for your fucking games, Baelish."

"As you wish. I have a proposal for you. You are aware that I've asked Lady Sansa to marry me." He says, a statement, not a question. "I know that you care for her, Clegane." He murmurs.

"You don't know a fucking thing, Littlefinger" I bark, panic and rage spreading through my body.

"Ah, but I do—you've taken notice of her, and despite most people here, I know that it means something for a dog to take notice of something that isn't it's next kill— I also know that she cares for you… though perhaps in a different way.

Despite what you may think of me, I do wish to see Lady Sansa happy. She needs me to leave this place, but I know it will still be hard for her to be without any other familiar faces. I want to offer you a job, as her personal bodyguard, to come with us to Harrenhal. You will be well paid, have the comfort of seeing she is not endangered, and I will have a happy bride."

Littlefinger uncoils from the chair and says cheerily "Well… I shouldn't overstay my welcome. Let me know what you decide, but be advised that things don't stay secret long in Kings Landing, and our King has quite the temper, especially when it comes to playing with his toys." The thinly veiled threat doesn't escape my notice, and I slam my fist into the wall when he's left the room.

_Shit_.

**AN: Ooh gurl, we got complications. Impending disagreeable lemons...**


	3. Chapter 3- Sad Prayers For Guilty Bodies

**III. Sad Prayers For Guilty Bodies**

_She said, lover come and hold me_

_I am terribly afraid_

_While you're shouting at the stars_

_My scars are not fading away_

_He said, darling, I was begging heaven make them disappear_

_But see, I didn't get an answer or at least one I could hear_

Lord Baelish told me that Sandor had accepted his offer, to become my bodyguard. I accepted his proposal shortly after, seeing no reason to stay behind. I was surprised, honestly. We hadn't exactly left things on good terms. But I'm grateful that now I can at least try and be his friend.

_At least I could have that._

I've traveled to the Godswood by the garden to pray before I returned to my chambers for the night. I knew that in some form, I was marring Lord Baelish for the wrong reasons. I didn't love him, and though I know from my father's marriage to my mother that even strictly political marriages evolve into love over time, I still felt I was being dishonest to myself.

I prayed for nearly half an hour, requesting the gods for guidance in this marriage, to protect Sandor from himself, and to ask for the strength to live this new life, whatever happens.

It was mid-sunset when I got up to return to my room. In the halls on the way there, I run into The Hound himself.

"Good afternoon, ser." I say, curtsying slightly. I know I shouldn't have said it, but I wanted to make sure he responded.

"On that again, are we?" He rumbles.

I ignore his remark and continue—"I'm very grateful that you're coming with us to Harrenhal."

"Aye, that's right; you'll be Littlefinger's plaything soon instead of the King's"

"_Lord_ Baelish is nothing like the King." I reply quickly.

"You know what I've heard?" Sandor says, stepping forward conspiratorially. "The ladies of the court say that he's called Littlefinger because he can make you _beg_ using only his little finger." He leered, enunciating with the bending of his pinky.

"Beg for wh—" _Oh,_ I realize, feeling my face reddening. "Do you always have to be so rude?"

"Never minded it much before." He says gruffly, raising his eyebrows in suggestion.

I swallow impulsively and clear my throat. "Are you coming; to the wedding I mean?"

He frowns and answers, "I have to be, I'm on duty."

"Of course." I murmur and force a smile. "It was nice talking, _ser_." I say and walk around him, heading back to my chambers.

* * *

_I can't believe how grown up I look._ The person in the mirror doesn't look at all from the petulant daughter of Winterfell, she looks like a woman. My dress is a deep green with gold ivy embellishments. It's stiff, like all the expensive dresses are, but it looks wonderfully flow-ey all the same. The neckline is a deep vee that shows off my budding breasts. "Necessary for the wedding night," Shae explained.

The wedding night… That's something I'm worried about. I begged Shae to tell me every detail of what would happen, but she said that's something my lord husband will have to teach me.

I tried not to think about it as we headed to the ceremony room. I tried not to think about it as the ceremony was held. And I tried not to think about it as my—now—lord husband and I, headed to the banquet hall afterwards. It all passed by as if I was in a dream.

I sighed as we walked to sit at the head table, the King in the center, the Queen Regent and Varys to his left, and Lord Baelish and I's spots to the right. He pulls out the chair all the way to the right, so that I wouldn't have to sit next to Joffrey I suppose.

I could barely pay attention to all that was going on around me, everyone was talking, and it was all so loud. Eventually though, I could make out that Joffrey was saying something about me.

"If I were you, Littlefinger, I'd get a son into the bitch as soon as you can. Those traitorous Starks have a tendency to _die_ on you." He said, laughing at his cruel joke.

Lord Baelish's hand rubbed my knee under the table comfortingly, while he replied stiffly, "I'll take it under advisement, your grace."

_He can't be that bad. He's already trying to be so nice._ My thoughts turned back to the wedding night. _Would I already be with child in the morning?_ I gulped down the rest of my glass of wine and some servant refilled it for me instantly.

I drink another glass and my eyes catch Sandor's in some distant corner of the room. He has a wine jug in his hand and is taking big swigs of it near constantly. _Drinking on the job?_ It's so very typical that I can't help but smile in his direction, and I think it's the only smile I've worn all day.

To my surprise, he returns the gesture and even raises his wine jug in my direction.

Before I knew it, everyone was shouting for us to leave and head to our marriage bed. People were grabbing at me, hoisting me onto their shoulders, and parading me out of the room, to my lord husband's chambers. By the time I get there, he's already inside, and they plant me down and shut the doors, shrieking like animals.

-**Petyr POV**-

_She __**was**__ a vision._

I had always had a soft spot for Sansa Stark. First because I knew it's what Cat would've wanted, and now because she's changed. She was always so fearful before, cowering before all who seek to do her harm, now she's…defiant. No longer only chirping the songs she was taught.

I see her desire to leave King's Landing as an opportunity, to do what Cat wouldn't let me. She had to learn how to play the game. If she didn't, she would meet the same fate of her dear mother.

She looked nervous. _Of course she was._ Sansa was only recently a woman, and I expect has not even known the touch of a man, but tonight I would take her maidenhead. She hardly knew me, but it was my duty as her lord husband to bed her, and give her a child.

_Not that it was a displeasing task in the slightest._

I gesture to the decorated table to my left and proceed to fill the two cups there with wine from the jug there. _If I can just make her more relaxed._ I try to make my smile comforting when I hold out one of the goblets for her. She takes it, and her smile is vibrant.

She gulps down the wine like a drowning woman and it makes me chuckle. "If you keep it up, darling, you're going to pass out." The pet name sounds foreign on my tongue.

She looks embarrassed and I notice she's shaking. I grab her now empty glass and return it to the table. I take her head in my hands and push the hair away from her face. "You don't have to worry, Sansa. I can make it _good_ for you." The blush that spreads across her cheeks is precious.

Sansa looked up with wide Tully-blue eyes into mine, searching for the truth in my words. _Her eyes are so trusting._ It was no lie, of course. Running a brothel did not only mean being a businessman, I was also a teacher, of sorts. The more a whore knew the more money she would make me. Firsthand experience was of course, the best way to learn.

I move in to kiss her softly, testing the waters. My cock was already straining against my breeches—_she really was beautiful_—but I could keep it under control, I had to. _She's so young, so fragile._

To my surprise, she doesn't stay still as a statue, and instead moves her lips against mine in a hesitant but pleasant manner. My arms grip hers to pull her closer and I gently sweep my tongue against her lips, seeing if she'll let me explore her mouth.

She opens her mouth to me, and the fruity taste of the wine on her tongue is delicious. Her mouth is soft, and small. I'm still cautious, so I wait until she uses her hands to grab the collar of my doublet to push her comfort zone, just a little.

I pull her body flush against mine and let her feel the hardness of my manhood; as expected, she intakes a breath sharply and freezes. I move my kisses across her face, jawline, and trail up to her ear. "Do you know what that is?" I breathe, rolling my hips forward.

"Yes my lord. It's your m-manhood." She says, stuttering when I grind against a sweet spot.

"Do you know where it goes?" I ask, moving my head to kiss her neck.

"Not really, my lord." She answers and I feel her skin heat.

I'm not surprised to hear her answer. Many women were only aware of their cunt when they are first bedded. _Time for an anatomy lesson?_

"Come," I say, offering her my hand. She takes it and I lead her to the bed. I slink onto the bed and open up my legs, patting the spot between them. She takes her place, only hesitating for a second. _So brave._

I ask her to lean forward, and she complies. I undo the various buttons and strings on her dress, until she is left only in her cream-colored sheath. Her freckled skin looks so incredibly soft, I can't help but place hungry kisses on her shoulder, biting down once before returning to the task at hand.

"Now," I say into her ear, "_this_ is where it goes." I reach past her sheath and undergarments, and use just one finger to trace the small hole there. It's already slick with arousal, and that sends a throbbing through my cock. She makes a small peep of surprise and jumps a little at the sensation my touch causes.

"But it's so small." She mumbles, voice wavering.

"She will stretch, with proper encouragement. But I will not lie to you, Sansa, it will hurt at first."

"Well then how will it feel good?" She chirps, and she seems to be panicking. I suck softly at her neck, and she leans into my attentions. "Calm, my little dove." Now's not the time to tell dear Sansa of the fine line between pleasure and pain, so perhaps a bit of distraction will work.

My mouth moves to the hollow just behind her ear and return my hand between her legs. I move my trained fingers carefully on her clit, while tonguing periodically behind her ear. The result is an exquisite symphony of whimpers and writhing. She was holding back, but that could be fixed.

I pushed a single digit into her opening and swirled it around gently, making room for a second. She groaned loudly and thrust her hips up to my hand. _I'd forgotten how tight virgins were._

I worked her until she was panting, and then guided her body around to kiss her, fingers still in place. Her kisses were now slightly sloppy, drunk with arousal.

I wanted to see her—_all of her_.

I broke the kiss and removed my hands to pull her remaining undergarments off her body. _She's perfect_. Her body is petite, her skin porcelain pale and dotted with charming freckles. _I want to kiss all of them_.

She attempts to cover herself with her arms but I pull them away and whisper into her ear, "You shouldn't be so shy, darling, men would _kill_ for a chance to touch a body like yours."

I leaned down to kiss her blushing cheeks, and to my surprise, her hand reaches up to graze my manhood. I groan and press it against her hand, but it bounds away, shocked at her own actions.

She sits up on her elbows and cocks her head to the right, frowning. "Why am I the only one as bare as I was on my name day?" I grin at her forwardness, pull my top off my head, and divest myself of my bottoms. She gasps at the scar deep scar on my chest, reaches out to touch it and I decide that it's not the right time to talk about my love for her mother. "That's a talk for another time, sweet." I murmur, taking her hands in mine.

I guide her hands to explore my body, and let the newness of the experience drive her into a frenzy of lust, grasping at whatever she can. I kiss her on the mouth softly and say against her lips, "Just relax, little dove, and tell me if you need me to slow." I push into her, hissing at the tight warmth that envelops me.

I reach the resistance of her maidenhead and she cries out as I push through it. She is shaking and I see the tears at the corners of her eyes and kiss them away, cooing that she's alright, she's beautiful, and that she's doing well. Gradually she relaxes as pain turns to pleasure.

The sensation of her virgin cunt is almost too much to bear and I try to find an angle that will bring her to her peak. She moans wantonly when I hit the right spot, forgetting her modesty. I increase my pace, making sure to hold back until I hear her shouting something that sounds like a prayer, her body tensing and writhing for a moment before going limp. I find my release and immediately roll off her and try to catch my breath.

What I hear over my panting is startling. Laughter, like pearly bells reaches my ears and I stare in wide-eyed surprise at my wife.

"That's nothing like people make it out to be." She exclaims, still laughing. I don't know what she means so I just raise my brows in question. "There's no romance," She continues. "It's just bodies, just feeling!" And I realize that this is a revelation for her, the sweet innocent daughter of the honorable Eddard Stark, did not grow up with stories of whorehouses, where coupling was paid for by the hour. She grew up with knights and promises of a fine life with a lord husband and a sprawling castle.

"You'll come to see that most things, dear Sansa, are not what you think they are." I say, and kiss her hair.

* * *

**AN: Sorry if that hurt your Sansan hearts, but I'm getting to it, promise.**


	4. Chapter 4- So Here We Are

**IV. So Here We Are**

_I caught a glimpse, but it's been forgotten_

_So here we are again_

_I made a vow, to carry you home, home_

_I really tried to do what you wanted_

I don't think there is a worse hell than this. Little bird is married to that rat, Littlefinger, and here I am, packing up all my shit to go with them on the move to their new fucking palace, Harrenhal. She does seem happy though. She'd better be. I think of the time of foolish passion we shared at her chambers and shake my head. _How stupid can a dog be?_

_You've lost your chance, hound. Never had any right to it in the first place_.

I wonder how my little bird took their first night as husband and wife. Did Littlefinger make her scream, loud and feral, or did she just mewl, and drift into a satisfying sleep? I would have made her scream. She would have screamed so loud, it would sound as if she were fighting for her life. A dog could only go easy for so long…

There's a knock at the door, and I curse at the sight of my massive erection. "Sandor? It's Sansa. May I come in?" _Seven hells_. I hastily sit down and grab a shield I was packing, making as if I were polishing it. "Fine, come in!" She does, and closes the door behind her. She moves to sit on my shitty straw bed. I can tell by the expression on her face and her hands poking at the bed that she wonders how it is I sleep on such a thing. "A bed is just a surface to pass out on, little bird. It's as comfortable as it needs to be." Bloody hell, I really should stop calling her that.

Sansa nods, her fiery hair sparkling in even the dim light of this room. "You will have a better bed at Harrenhal, even so." I hadn't really thought about it that way. The only thing I'd been focused on is my role in protecting Sansa, it just happens to be somewhere else. I've already arranged for Stranger to come with me, and Littlefinger assured me that he would put a capable stable boy on duty, at all times. I almost feel bad for whoever that is. Stranger isn't friendly to anybody but me.

"Sandor, I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you."

"Aye, what's that?"

"Could you come with me to the market, in town?" She twirls a lock of hair in her hand distractedly. "Lord Baelish doesn't think I should go unless I have protection." She scrunches up her face, displeased.

"That's not a favor, little bird, that's my job." I grate. "Let's go then. I'm not getting any younger."

* * *

"Look at this one, Sandor!" Little bird shouts excitedly. She's supposed to be looking for things to entertain her for the journey, things to make her more comfortable, but all she's been doing is picking up hand-made little trinkets and shoving them at my face.

_But fuck me, she looks so happy_.

I haven't seen her this way in a long time, carefree, thrilled. It made her cheeks rosy and her icy eyes sparkle. Normally it would make me wary for her future, in such a cruel, bloody fucking world. But I know that little bird's armor is lurking right beneath her soft exterior, ready to shield her if need be.

"You're not a bleedin' girl anymore, little bird. You don't need _toys_." I grumble harshly. She can't forget that dogs have teeth. We've been out here long enough; it's nearly dark out. There aren't enough people about.

She sighs loudly and puts it back, a small wooden carving of a dog, I realize. "You aren't any fun at all, are you?" She flips around and her red hair sparkles in what's left of sunlight. "I suppose fun is for little girls too." I don't say anything back and she huffs and walks forward. I follow her noisily.

"Just one more thing and then we can go back." She says, looking up at the sky. She looks nervous. _At least the girl has some sense_.

We come to a stall for medicinal herbs, one of the few that's still open. Sansa walks straight up to the bald man in rich clothes running it and starts asking him questions. I don't like the look of him, slimy and pale, with a voice like a snake. His lips look black. "Yess," he purrs at her, "_this_ will do just the thing." _What exactly is she buying?_

"Sansa!" I bark. "What in the seven hells is in that bottle?" The thing looks disgusting, green and clumpy looking, almost as if it was only semi-liquid. "Gods, Sandor, relax. It's just something for sea sickness, the Maester was out." She reaches out to grab it. _Bullshit_. I didn't know much about healing, but I did know that even medicine didn't look that filthy.

I grab her by the back of her dress and drag her behind me swiftly. "What in the seven—" She's interrupted by the strange cackle of the snake-man. _An assassin?_ I draw my sword, "You make one move I'll cut your _fucking head_ off." I warn. The man stops laughing. "Come now, no need for things to get…_bloody_!" He sniggers at the last word; his voice is harsh and metallic, like forging steel.

The area around us seems to darken, until we are in a bubble that simply looks like the night sky, all features save for the blasted stall fading away. "Sandor, what's happening?!" Little bird shrieks, panicking. I don't want to tell her that I have no sodding clue, that this strange darkness is making _me_ uneasy.

So I yell and lunge forward, raising my sword at the strange man. _I don't need to know. I just need to make her safe_.

The man disappears, and my sword hits the wood of the stall. "SANDOR!" My head whips around as I'm trying to free my blade. The bastard has his arm around Sansa, holding her in place. With a roar I yank my sword out and turn to gut the creature for even touching her.

"Ah, ah ah!" It speaks, and waves a free arm in a dramatic sweeping motion. Smoke rises up out of the near invisible ground, and I feel my heart straining in my chest. The smoke curls, and forms into bodies, bodies on _fire_. The swarm to me and I begin swinging my sword, fighting the overwhelming urge to run, anywhere. _Anything but this._

I see smoke rise up and engulf little bird and that _thing_, and suddenly they're gone. _NO!_ I try to fight off the beasts, but more just keep taking their place…

* * *

I'm running, somebody's holding my hand, dragging me along. I'm not sure what's going on, but we're in a field, no, a meadow, there's flowers, and a big tree. _It's not blooming season_. We come to a stop under the tree, in the shade.

I finally get to look at my companion. He's handsome, and young, with jet-black shoulder length hair and decadent clothes. He's extremely pale, eyes an odd maroon color and his lips have an almost purplish hue to them. He's laughing, it's infectious, and suddenly I'm laughing too.

I fall back onto the grass, out of breath, my dress pooling around me. "Am I dreaming?" I ask, giggling. It seems that this must be a dream, life is never this breathtaking, beautiful. Every color is bright, like a painting.

The man sits next to me, one leg stretched lazily out. "Not quite." He says. _What does that mean?_ Concern penetrates my mind for a moment before the strange man leans over and quickly places a kiss on my cheek, sending a strange tingling through my body. Calm washes over me and I sigh, happy again. It occurs to me that I don't even know his name. "Who are you?"

He shrugs and simply says, "A friend."

_I haven't had many of those_.

"Where are we?" He shakes his head and grins lopsidedly, "So many questions." He murmurs. He moves to sit closer to me, so that our bodies are touching. His hand grazes my cheek. "You trust me, don't you?"

"Yes." I say, leaning into his touch, and for whatever reason, it's true.

I feel like I should be thinking of something. Something important. But his touch seems to chase those feelings away. _Everything seems so different here. _He twirls a lock of hair around is finger and starts speaking again, "_A red wolf, with a fragile body and a strong heart._" He says it as if he's heard it many times. He lets go of my hair. "That's you. I knew it the _moment_ I saw you. But a fragile body will not do, no, no."

I don't understand his words, what he's talking about. They make my head feel even foggier than before. He reaches out a hand to my face, turning it towards him.

"Drink this." He says softly, producing a small bottle from his pockets. The liquid inside seems to glow, a muddy red color with livid blue streaks.

I take it from his hand, staring at it curiously. "What is it?"

"Your destiny."

I uncork it, and lift it to my lips, pausing. I glance at him, and he gives me a reassuring smile and nod. His smile fills me with pride, I smile back, and I toss back the liquid.

Its freezing cold, like liquid ice running down my throat, and it makes me shiver.

I feel dizzy, and I lay down on the grass to keep the world from moving so much. The nameless man leans over my body, his smiling face and eyes with a twinge of madness are the last thing I see before everything fades to black.

* * *

I'm in a bed. People are shouting, no, _Sandor_ is shouting.

"I'm telling you, Clegane, there is no evidence that anything is the matter with her, no evidence of an attack of _any_ kind." _The Maester?_

"I'll fucking wring your head, you little rat!" _Sandor._

"She's waking up." This is a third voice, my husband, lord Baelish.

My eyes open but the world comes into focus very slowly. I feel someone take my hand. "How do you feel, my little dove?"

"Fine," I answer, "just a bit weak."

The Maester steps forward, "What happened?"

The question confuses me. I try to think of it, but all I see when I try is a dreamland. I remember the man, at the stall, I remember the boy, in my dream, and I remember darkness. "I-I'm not sure." I tell him what I saw, before the dream, but he looks skeptical.

"Were you hurt?"

"No." _I don't think._

The Maester leaves the room to get some brandy for my strength. Sandor looks kind of twitchy, and I want to know what's troubling him. "Sandor, what ever is the matter?"

He doesn't really answer, instead grunting and punching the wall so hard little bits fall off it and walking out of the room.

"He's asked me to kill him." Petyr says quietly.

"_What_?" I shout, sitting up.

"He feels responsible for—whatever it is that happened, and thinks himself a failure."

"B-But those _things_! Surely—"

"I have no intention of doing anything of the sort, Sansa. If it was indeed dark magic, I doubt he could do anything more." He brings my head to his chest. "I'm just glad you're unscathed."

* * *

I still feel quite strange, but as soon as they let me, I rush over to Sandor's chambers. I'm worried for him. Sandor wasn't a man to run from his troubles, but despite what he says, he is honorable, and might make a horrible mistake if he thought it right. I don't bother knocking, and by the gods' good grace, the door is unlocked.

The room stinks of wine. Sandor is lying on his bed, legs hanging off the edge, with no shirt on. His chest his massive, like the rest of him, with a fair coat of hair, chiseling down to a point at his hips. The sight makes my heart beat faster in my chest.

He's awake and is staring blankly at the ceiling. His head slowly turns towards me as I close the door. "Am I dreaming?" He mumbles, and I get the strangest feeling of remembrance. I shake my head and walk over to him. He sits up quickly, eyes widening.

He pulls me into his lap, unexpectedly and I let out a yelp of surprise. He buries his head and hands in my hair and groans. "So sorry, little bird." My mind screams at me how inappropriate this is, but he's absolutely drunk, out of his mind, and sad. _And I like the feel of his body against mine._ I can't be heartless.

He starts making these sounds, similar to sobs, but rougher, more animal. _Dogs don't cry_.

Gradually these get quieter, and he lies back on the bed, taking me with him. It makes me realize just how much larger he is than me. I feel swallowed by his arms alone. I can't help but think of how strange this is, the hulking frame of The Hound, cradling me gently, like a doll.

Sandor plays with my hair, mumbling to himself, while I reassure him whenever he seemed to begin to tense up again, that I'm all right, and he needn't worry.

After a while he falls asleep, snoring loudly. It takes some doing, but eventually I get out from underneath his heavy arms and creep out of his bed, as quietly as I can.

He'll be alright. And I will be too.

**AN: I haven't been inspired to write this one for a little while, I hope it's alright. Kind of a transition piece into the actual stuff I wanted to put in this story. Now I can finally start getting to the good stuff. The _vampy_ stuff.**

**Was this confusing? I'm trying out just using those grey lines for both scene changes and POV changes, but if it's really horrible I won't do it anymore.**

**Edit: It kind of makes me sad that this isn't a very followed story, despite it being the second most viewed I have. Am I doing something wrong? Either way I'm gonna keep writing it, I can't help it now.**


	5. Chapter 5- Like Eating Glass

**V. Like Eating Glass**

_I can't eat , I can't sleep_

_I can't sleep, I can't dream_

_An aversion to light_

_Got a fear of the ocean_

_Like drinking poison, like eating glass_

Weeks pass, and since it seems that I'm not getting any worse, Petyr decides it best to keep along with our plans for Harrenhal. I was afraid The Hound would refuse to come, even after the time I spent with him after it happened. He's only mentioned my coming so far as to tell me never to do it again.

I don't really care what he says. He needed me, and even though he wanted to abandon me, I could never bring myself to do the same to him.

As days went by on the ship, I started to feel worse and worse. I think I've been hiding it well, but it's getting harder.

Line

I sigh as I look at the jug of wine and loaf of cut bread before me on the table. Dinner had already been served, so this was all I could snag from the kitchens. I grab the jug, hearing the wine inside slosh wetly against the sides, and start slugging the thing in desperation, anything to quiet the pains and soothe my dry throat. Coughing a little, I tear off chunks of bread and proceed to mechanically shove pieces into my face. Entering an almost a trance-like state.

"Sansa! Fuck, little bird, answer me!" I hear the thundering of The Hound before I feel his heavy paws shaking me, almost gently. _How did I not hear him coming?_ The Hound was not a quiet man, even when not wearing his customary armor, any movement from him was aggressive on the senses. As he stood before me, in a leather tunic and roughhewn pants, the strength in his appearance was apparent. Distracted, it takes me a moment to reply to his worried expression. "I'm hungry" I shrug, and my stomach twinges painfully in agreement. "Bugger that! You were steps away from eating the table at dinner and now I've just had to shake a bloody response outta you." He said, eyes narrowing. _What business is it of his anyway?_

My already sullen mood sours further and I can't help to think of his rejection back at King's Landing, even though it seems so long ago now. _'Silly little bird doesn't know what she wants.'_ His words echo through my mind. A wave of nausea rushes through me, and I'm not sure if it's my unnamed sickness or my shame at my brazen actions that day.

"What, now The Hound is concerned for the bird?" I spat, losing my temper. _How dare he, pretend like that, it's just cruel! _I stand and try to put some distance between us.

"A hound does what he's told, and it's my job to protect you, girl." He growls, taking a few steps closer. "You're not fooling anyone! You been eating more than Stranger and you haven't kept one bite of it down. You're disappearn' in front of me." Sandor bellowed.

"I said, I'm fine." I murmur, suddenly tired with all of this. My throat was burning and the thirst combined with hunger pains was making it difficult to hold on to any one emotion. Trying to step backwards, I trip over my skirts and suddenly see ground rushing up to me. "Oof." Sandor's large arms catch me before I make contact with the hard wood of the ship.

"My arse." I hear him mutter.

Slumping down to sit on the floor, I groan and clutch my stomach as another wave of nausea hits me and my vision swims. _What in seven hells is going on? I've never been sick before in my life._ The nausea grows until it's unbearable, and quickly I stumble over to the table and retch into the wine jug. Sandor curses and I return to the floor, weak with the sickness. "Oh Gods Sandor, it hurts…" The hulking form of The Hound kneels beside me. I mumble something indecipherable about my sister but my voice fades in my throat, and my eyes begin to burn as tears gather behind my eyes.

"Sandor, I'm scared." I cry, throwing my arms around him. Tears stream freely from my eyes now. He stiffens at first, taken aback but slowly relaxes and pats my back awkwardly. "Shh… It's okay little bird… Fuck me if I'm going to let any more harm come to you on my watch." He says, soft as a hound can.

The comfort of his warm body and strong arms rubbing my back in soothing circles allows me to relax and catch my breath. That's when I smelt _it_. In the crook of his neck, I inhale something unlike anything I've ever smelt before. More intoxicating than the Brandywine I used to sneak from the cellars, and more appetizing than Mother's mince pie.

"Ah!" I groan, my jaw pulsing painfully.

Sandor must have thought it a hiccoughing sob, as his only response is to grip me closer. His proximity is making me dizzy with—what, desire, hunger?—something indescribable. I hear my own pulse in my ears, loudly, unable—unwilling?—to look away from his neck. I imagine for a moment what his skin tastes like, and my mouth finds itself on his neck.

His pulse seems tandem with yours, and the vibration of it against my lips is enough to make me moan aloud. I feel him tense beneath me at the noise and for reasons I can't grasp I begin to panic. _He can't leave, I need…_ "Little bird…" I hear him rasp. "Shh…stay still…please, Hound." In shock at my use of his common name, I think, he complies, and I press my face back to his neck and inhale deeply. My vision swims, and some fire within me lights and all I can see is red. On instinct, I move hastily and my teeth rip and easily pierce his flesh. Warm liquid freely flows from the wound, and I draw on it, sucking greedily. The liquid instantly soothes my aching throat and fills me with a sense of power. The taste sends me flying, high above all care and all pain in the world. _So __**sweet**__!_

Everything else fades away and all I can see is red. Blood red.

**AN: So, I kinda am stuck with this story, that's why I haven't updated it in a while. I think it's kind of shit, and I'm not sure it's worth the trouble re-writing it. And all my other stories are taking up a lot of my time cause I actually have ideas for them...**

**Thus, this story is now on INDEFINITE HIATUS.**

**I leave this chapter as a parting gift, mainly because it was the first one I wrote for this series. It's kind of unfinished, and not nearly as long as I like my chapters to be, but there ya go.**

**I'm really sorry to anyone who really liked this story. Truly, curse my name, I deserve it.**


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